


go down on you in a theatre

by hes_made_of_gold (how_fickle_my_heart)



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, DCU (Comics), Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-26 17:58:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/how_fickle_my_heart/pseuds/hes_made_of_gold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce stumbles across something he should not have seen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Tim wakes smoothly. He breathes in gently and is aware of another presence. Something thick, still with an edge of comfort and tar after all this time, brushes against his consciousness. Bruce is at the door. Tim opens his eyes, slow and still sleep soaked. Beside him Jason emanates warmth and home.

 

Oh, shit.

 

Tim absolutely blames Jason's presence for the delay between his brain computing the thoughts 'Bruce is here' and 'I'm in a bed with Jason' to reacting by supplying situationally appropriate panic. It's hard to be constantly alert with a heavy arm slung low across his hips, rising from a deep REM cycle. At least, he thinks in a mild state of terror, we're both wearing underwear. Wait, Jason is, right?

 

That thought has him turning his head to check, feeling his heartbeat subside slightly at the sight of the Superman print Jason is sporting. He'd laugh and curl up against him if only Bruce wasn't staring silently down at them both. Tim's kind of surprised the sheer atmosphere of judgement coming from Bruce hasn't woken Jason.

 

What exactly is the protocol for when your cape wearing, emotionally unresponsive adopted father/mentor/vigilante figure finds you half naked in bed with your adopted brother/adversary/partner who once tried to kill you - oh, and is legally dead? Tim's pretty sure his tactic of just staring back isn't the best option for handling the situation, but somehow he can't quite bring himself into full panic-analysis mode. He's comfortable.

 

Jason is sound asleep next to and on top of him. One arm is slung under the pillow, fingers peaking out to graze Tim's neck. His other rests diagonally across the boy's chest, elbow resting in the V beside Tim's hipbone. These fingers are curled lazily into the bottom of his boxers, sliding up Tim's thigh. Jason's face is hidden into Tim's shoulder.

 

In contrast to Jason's easy curl Tim is pretty much sprawled on his back, the hand and foot nearest the door hanging off of the bed. Tim wants to pull them back in away from Bruce's eyes. The bed is the safe zone; his runaway limbs are crossing no-man’s-land into hostile territory. They might not make it back intact. From the blankness on Bruce's face, Tim is going to assume it's hostile territory for now. He can't quite get a read on Bruce's thought process here.

 

As he becomes more awake, Tim starts to be conscious of other things. Like the day old hickey blossoming spectacularly on his inner thigh, just below the fabric line, or the faint Jason-shaped bruises on his hips. Jason's got marks spaced to match the gaps between Tim's fingers down one side. Tim's pretty sure that, should he ever stop mashing his face into Tim's shoulder blade, Jason's got one hell of a bite mark at the junction of his throat. Any chance of passing this off with the ‘too-tired-to-get-separate-beds-after-that-really-hard-patrol-no-Dick-we-hate-each-other’ charade evaporates.

 

(Yes, they've used that line before. It's actually worked, but that might have more to do with the gun in Jason's sleep loose grip than the believability of the tale. (They also have a bad habit of this happening when crashing in houses that aren't their own.))

 

Bruce is still staring. Tim decides that he's either gone into shock...or he's gone into shock. The air around him almost seems electrically charged. Tim entertains himself for a moment guessing at who he's more appalled by before remembering that, in this, Bruce's opinion means fuck all. Tim's allowed to have some things Batman-free.

 

He shifts, slightly, and the movement makes Jason's fingers slip entirely between his legs. And _there's_ the blush. He'd been wondering where his embarrassment had scurried off to. Tim can feel it throwing a dinner party in the red of his cheeks.

 

Apparently this is where Bruce draws the line between horrified spectator and inquisitor because he takes a strong step into the room. The whole atmosphere suddenly becomes enclosing; suffocating rather than enveloping as before. Tim feels Jason's fingers close minutely tighter around his thigh and he knows that he's woken up. Bruce must see the tension in Jason's muscles because he addresses them both.

 

'What is this?' his voice is a dangerous cross between Bruce Wayne and Batman, as if he can’t quite decide which persona to shield himself with. Tim unconsciously presses himself closer to Jason's side. All the warmth in the room is receding.

 

Jason scoffs, still buried behind Tim's shoulders. Bruce can only see the black and white of his messy hair. 'This is called sleeping, oh great detective. You should try it sometime,' he answers in a biting tone, rearranging the arm under the pillow to wrap around the back of Tim's waist. It's a move he's playing off as making himself comfortable but it screams protection. He's mine, don't touch this subject if you want to live.

 

'I think it's more than that,' Batman responds evenly. His voice is dry enough to hint at the lake of anger and misplaced feelings under the veneer of the conversation. It's enough to make Jason lift his head out. The look on his face is annoyance, masking the visceral anger that always accompanies interactions with Bruce. Deeper than that the anger masks uncertainty.

 

Tim and Jason have never fully straightened out what this is. They are Red Hood and Red Robin, always tied together by something: anger, resentment, envy, compassion, admiration, love. They've tried to kill each other and they're not sorry for it. The life doesn't have much room for regrets, Tim's found.

 

But this. This is good. The pattern they've carved out for themselves works, and Tim likes this spiral of intimacy they've fallen into. He likes having Jason's arm around him.

 

'It's none of your business,' Tim says softly. He can feel Jason's eyes on his face and his lungs pushing air in and out of his chest cavity against his side. It's calming, somehow, to have Jason doing something as mundane as respiration beside him. It's proof that life goes on. 'We aren't your Robins anymore.'

 

If Bruce is stung he doesn't visibly react. Tim's angry at him, too, for a myriad of reasons that all channel back to ‘you're supposed to have loved me more than Batman’. Its the baseline hurt that holds the fragile relationships between the exRobins together.

 

Bruce's eyes trail over them silently. Tim struggles not to hold unnaturally still under the gaze. Jason, because he's a jerk, runs a foot up the side of Tim's calf. Tim has sudden bizarre visions of them testing how far Bruce's stoicism will extend.

 

He stands a foot into the room for a few moments more, letting his disapproving air diffuse a little more before turning away. His steps are measured as he walks away.

 

'He left the door open,' Jason mutters irritably, glaring at the space where Bruce had been standing. Tim shifts onto his side. He reaches up to comb a few messy strands from Jason's face.

 

'He's being petulant.' Tim tilts his head to press a kiss to Jason's mouth. The fingers, now pressed entirely between his closed legs, scratch lightly against his flesh. Tim hums in satisfaction; Jason leers. He leans in close, as if trying to crowd the younger boy.

 

'Good morning,' Jason almost purrs. His voice has lost bite, reverting back to sleep-graveled and really hot. A little part of Tim is soaring with how they brushed off something as potentially disastrous as Bruce. It gives a little more credibility to the idea that this is real, its good and he gets to keep it. From the low rumble of chuckles building up in Jason's chest, he feels the same.

 

'You know what this means?' Tim asks, fashioning his voice low and secretive. His hand drops from Jason's hair to press against his jaw, pulling him in for a kiss just this side of wet and hot.

 

'We can horrify him at every opportunity?' Jason quirks an eyebrow as he suggests it, punctuating the question by dragging the hand in between Tim's thighs higher. Tim is sold.

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

Neither Jason nor Tim make a habit of loitering in the Wayne mansion. Jason actively avoids it at every opportunity, except for when Alfred invites them for tea. Some things cannot be denied, and Alfred is the prime example of that. The requests always come in a heavy paper letter, weighed down by the butler's neat cursive and expectations. Tim has stopped being surprised that the letters always reach them, no matter how often either of them move. Alfred's messages find their ways into parts of the city Tim is fairly certain don't have a postal service.

 

Jason, being stubborn and usually in the entirely wrong mindset to deal with Bruce, has taken to dragging Tim along as a human shield ( _how could that possibly work, I'm half your size_.) It was one of the very first things, other than drug busts, that they did together. Now it's become somewhat of a tradition, which makes Tim twitchy, because every pattern he's settled into has disappeared or blown up or ditched him somewhere along the line.

 

Tea with Alfred and extreme sleep deprivation are the only two ways Jason will willingly enter the mansion for anything other than mission briefs. Judging by the glint in his eye when Alfred's next request comes through the post (or secret ninja delivery service, Tim can't rule it out), screwing with Bruce's mindset has been added to the list.

 

'This is a bad idea,' Tim bemoans over his coffee mug. The card is lying quite innocently on Jason's otherwise clear kitchen table. Jason quirks an eyebrow questioningly. 'Not the tea with Alfred; the thing you're thinking of doing to mess with Bruce while we're there. It's like poking a dragon with a stick.'

 

'You don't usually complain when my ideas involve pissing respected authorities off.'

 

'I'm not complaining, and I don't think cartel leaders or mob bosses are usually referred to as respected authorities. And they're not nearly as dangerous as Batman.'

  
'So you're on board,' Jason grins widely at him, flashing teeth that are too straight for the amount of times they've been knocked out. Tim drops his chin to the table, sighing softly as Jason cackles. He should be glad that Jason's found a non lethal way to work through his aggression towards Bruce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohhh my there's a lot of you; this is awesome! Thank you all so much :D It's really great to log in in the morning and see so many kudos and views. 
> 
> This is the shortest chapter, no fear. 3rd will be up tomorrow (and the rating will go up to Explicit ;))


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jason has the dangerous quality of making Tim want to be happy.

The smoke smell clings to Tim's skin as he pushes out of the Red Robin suit. The material catches on the burns at his ribs, causing him to hiss faintly. He's in the locker room that opens to Bruce's main workstation in the Batcave; Superman and Batman hover at the consoles, scanning through information on the cartel they are working to bring down. Tim is trying very hard to ignore the spare Robin mask left on one of the benches.

 

'It must have been rigged with light sensors,' he calls to Bruce, prodding lightly at the singed skin. 'The bombs only activated when we turned on the torches to get a better look around.' Batman nods and brings up a new set of data on the large screens. Tim can just about see if he cranes his head and leans forwards some.

 

'Smart,' Clark comments. He's out of costume and standing several feet behind the main desk, working through the onscreen data at superspeed. The jeans he's wearing are ripped at the knee and the hems browned from mud. It's an oddly humanising look for him. 'Anyone who knows the layout of the warehouse can get the drugs in and out easily enough in the dark. Intruders turn the lights on and get blown up.'

 

'If the product even _is_ drugs,' Jason's voice echoes down the long corridor leading to the workspace. Tim kicks off the last of his costume, makes several notes about repairs and upgrades, and steps into a shower stall. There's a row of five against the wall, each larger than the bathroom in his apartment (which says more about Tim's choice of housing than the splendour of  facilities in the Batcave.) The cubicles have walls on three sides and no door, which has puzzled just about everyone who uses them. Bruce's workstation is aligned with the shower entrances on the other side of the cave, probably to accommodate his paranoia by letting him see who enters and exits.

 

The water pressure is good enough that no one has ever complained. Warmth streams down Tim's skin, flattening his hair. A few strands are just long enough to graze at his eyelashes.

 

The clink of the motorcycle keys and a reinforced scent of smoke announces Jason's arrival.

 

'How do we have so much info on these guys and still don't know what the product is?' he says, frustratedly, voice thickened by the smoke they'd both inhaled too much of. Tim watches as he wanders into his line of sight, stripping of his gauntlets and domino mask. The kris blade is removed with something close to reverence, and Tim can't quite help the smile that steals across his mouth. 'All we know is that they're making way too much money for it to be legal.'

 

He flashes a wink at Tim when he spots him under the cascade of water.

 

There's an almost silent squeak as Bruce swivels his chair around, presumably to address Jason. 'Did you find evidence of anything before the explosion?' His voice has just the slightest softness to it, a wariness that only comes out when Jason is around.

 

Tim pokes his head out of the shower. 'It looked like they had cleared most of the stock out. I didn't see any boxes, but there were definitely scuff marks on the ground. Whatever is in the crates, its heavy.' Tim could do some fancy maths by measuring the depth of the scratches and finding the radius to give a more precise weight, but one of the few pleasures of working with Bruce is that he has a tendency to triple check everything anyway, so Tim might as well leave it to him. There's a moment where Bruce almost looks annoyed that Tim hijacked his conversation, but it's gone before Tim can properly identify it.

 

Jason smiles lightly at him, silent gratitude for Tim's interception. He's stripped down to underwear, hair still awry from the force of the explosion. There's soot smeared across his cheekbone. It makes Tim suddenly very proactive.

 

He reaches out, snagging two fingers into the hemline of Jason's boxers and dragging him in. The action is in full view of Bruce and Clark. Something delicious shivers up his spine at that and it must show on his face because Jason's raised eyebrows melt into a jagged grin. He steps into the shower, letting Tim pull at him until they're both hidden behind the wall.

 

'Gettin' brave baby bird,' he murmurs, just loud enough for Bruce's human ears to catch. The smoke has wrecked his voice a little. Still, the pitch is just off enough for Tim to tell that he's doing it on purpose: this is a conscious performance on Jason's part, not like when they've gone a couple rounds and Jason can't speak in anything but gravel. This is a different kind of hot.

 

Tim's thumbs are on Jason's hips and pressing down, pulling at the wet material. The boxers slides off and Jason kicks them away. There's a weird thrill jolting through Tim at the thought that he probably kicked them _out_ of the shower. They're kissing, then, Jason shoving Tim right under the water until they're both thoroughly soaked.

 

The tiles are cool on his back when Tim leans against them, running his thumbs into the grooves of Jason's abs. The water makes everything frictionless and perfect. Teeth scrape down his neck invitingly. Jason's tongue is warmer than the water drumming on his back. It swirls across Tim's jawline and when Jason nips at his jaw Tim's answering groan rattles through their chests. One of Tim's hands has wandered up to Jason's neck, allowing him to feel the jump in the other boy's pulse when they realise how loud that sound was. Tim grins, tilting his head up. Jason's answering chuckle is laughed into his clavicle.

 

They press tighter together. A side jet sends a stream of water running down Tim's head, jumping off of his chin and down his sternum to where it encounters Jason's shoulder and runs off his back. Tim's got enough faith in the friction of the floor to raise a leg up to wrap around Jason's waist. The second joins it moment later after Jason reshuffles his weight, caught unaware.

 

'Warning, next time, Tim,' Jason breathes into his skin, any reprimanding tone lost as they grind together. Tim's legs pull them yet closer, his hands bracketed on Jason's chest and his teeth digging into his shoulder.

 

'That's not so _mmnh_ \- fun,' he manages, gasping out when Jason's hand clutch as his ass, either to hold him up or grope. The water lets their cocks glide together obscenely. There's a part of his brain that notes that Bruce can probably hear them, definitely Clark. It's the same part that had him pulling Jason in here in the first place, and it's definitely getting off on it.

 

It's not just the sounds. They both know exactly what's going on in here. Bruce and Clark are only a handful of meters away, perfectly aware of how Jason is exhaling roughly into Tim's ear and leaning his forehead against the cool tiles as they press frantically into each other. There's an errant deduction in the back of Tim's head that sounds like _exhibitionism kink_ but he's in no state to analyse that idea further when Jason pries Tim's legs off his hips and drops to his knees.

 

He's got a hand around each of Tim's ankles, holding them steady on the floor. Tim glares halfheartedly at the payback.

 

Jason looks up at him through wet eyelashes, eyes a fucking _burning_ blue against the pink of his cheeks and mouth. Something in Tim's chest contracts almost painfully for a moment as those lips curve up into a dangerously avaricious smile.

 

And then the smile is gone in favour of tongue and heat and the wet hot slide of the inside of Jason's cheek against Tim's cock. Tim stutters a breath, eyes falling closed as his head knocks hard against the tiles. Watching Jason go down on him isn't a sight to be squandered, but Tim loves the anticipation of not being able to predict the next move. It gives him a measure more control, too.

 

Jason licks, wraps his tongue around Tim and applies pressure that pushes haggard gasps out of Tim's chest. His inhale is nothing more than a shaky moan. There are strong, calloused, slightly burnt hands stroking up his legs and digging painfully good into muscle.

 

Jason's thumbs trace water streams up his thighs; his mouth relocates to suck just below Tim's left hip. It feels like Jason's mouth is pulling the very _soul_ out of him, and if he sighs out Jason's name he can't be held accountable for it. There's a hint of teeth, then a real bite around his hipbone while Jason's hand wraps around his cock and his tongue presses over the indentations of teeth in Tim's skin.

 

Tim's hands glide over Jason's shoulders to cup the back of his head, running his nails through the black hair hard enough to coax the contented vibrations of a silent moan out of Jason. Jason licks at the head, once, twice before sucking strongly. One of his hands remains wrapped around Tim's ankle, holding him strong through the involuntary shaking in Tim's legs.

 

He keeps at it, a fast rhythm with the occasional drag of teeth that has Tim cursing low into the walls. Jason's thumbs dig hard into his inner thighs, leaving marks that will be there tomorrow and the day after. There's a crescendo rising up through Tim; he can feel the pounding of the water getting louder and closer around him. His hands fist in Jason's hair. Jason counteracts the backwards force by pushing forwards extra hard until Tim hits the back of his throat. Jason swallows reflexively and that's it.

 

Comfort wades through Tim as he comes, head resting against the wall and his eye lidded and staring up into the dark of the caves. Below him Jason licks a few more times with enough force to pull a sound out of Tim at the hypersensitivity.

 

The drifting feeling reseeds quickly enough, leaving behind a general mood of satisfaction warming Tim's bones. He runs his hands down to the back of Jason's neck, guiding him to stand and kiss. Jason has to bend slightly to align their mouths and his whole form presses over Tim. He's very conscious of muscle mass Jason has on him like this, not quite crowding Tim into the wall but standing solid and centred _so_ close.

 

Jason half whimpers when Tim scratches one hand into the back of his neck and sends the other trailing lightly down his chest, following the rivulets of water. From there it's fairly easy to hook a foot around Jason's ankle and swing his weight forwards until Jason is the one with his back against the tiles. His hands on Tim's hips are a conscious decision, just like the way he let Tim ambush him rather than flatten his attacker to the floor.

 

Bruce may not be willing to acknowledge this thing right here but Tim isn't too sure he wouldn't step in if it seemed like they were trying to kill each other.

 

'C’mon,' Jason mutters, long beyond proper articulation. His hips roll forwards and Tim steps even closer. He slots a thigh in between Jason's legs and sucks at his collarbone. His teeth bite down gently over the bone and drag along its length to Jason's shoulder.  There are hands running up his back and a sudden wet pressure on his jaw.

 

Jason sears kiss-lick hybrids to the underside of Tim's jaw and neck whilst Tim eases up on the pressure of his leg enough to get a hand around Jason's cock. It causes the pattern of pressure and heat on his neck to falter. Tim smirks and squeezes, calibrating. There's a harsh inhalation from Jason that echoes just enough. His fingers trail up and down, teasing the way that usually makes Jason snap something vaguely threatening while clutching at Tim's hips. He swears instead, bucking up and hissing at Tim. The note of blissed out misery sends a jolt through Tim, making him tighten his fingers and actually pump.

 

The water removes all the usual friction and it must be pretty amazing from the sounds Jason makes. Tim watches him lose it this time, eyes fixated on the reddened flesh of Jason's lower lip as he tugs it through his teeth when he comes. It's hard to resist and Tim doesn't bother trying, leaning in to press his tongue against the smooth curve and bite himself. Jason's palms, curled around Tim's hipbones, press inwards firmly as if to crush his skeleton together. It's a surprisingly comforting weight.

 

Tim's chin is hooked over Jason's shoulder as they breathe together, letting reality shift back in pieces. Once again Tim can feel the warmth of the water over them, not just the all encompassing heat of Jason.

 

It has him reaching for the shampoo dispenser (he'd bet everything it's a mid range English brand that smells fantastic, because Alfred) and spreading the honey coloured mixture over Jason's hair. The other hums pleasantly at the scratch of fingers working through his hair, washing away the last of the ash and debris. Tim would have to reach a little if Jason hadn't all but collapsed his head against Tim's shoulder. It's disarmingly nice to stand under the warm water with Jason's fingers drawing circles on his back.

 

There's a part of Tim that wants to teleport away and hide this affection between them from anyone, particularly Bruce, but there's another part that wants to throw it in front of their mentor and scream 'see! This is how it can be! It doesn't have to be isolating and painful and deceptive all the time. We are allowed nice things!' The impulse is strong, and Tim might actually do it if there wasn't a small doubt at the truth of the statement. They usually _don't_ get to have nice things, see every personal experience Tim has ever had.

 

He could jump down the rabbit hole of his past relationships and get caught up in memories that tighten around him until he feels very much like a shrunken Alice, wandering around a strange world of pretences. He could, but he’s too comfortable standing here to willingly dive into his own locked up miseries.

 

Jason has the dangerous quality of making Tim want to be happy.

 

Eventually they step out of their little world, not that the water should ever run cold, after long minutes of letting conditioner and warmth sink into their scalps. It’s surprisingly easy to push away Bruce’s mammoth presence and play blind to Clark’s stunned confusion, gathering up towels and dressing in spare clothes.

 

It’s a different impulse than the one that had Tim dragging Jason into the shower that hits him now. He walks out of the mock locker room, confident in that unassuming way people are when they don’t realise the magnitude of their own actions, and slides up behind Bruce at the console. There’s a piece of paper and pen there for the odd moments when computer code just won’t do. Tim draws out a quick sketch of his uniform, making use of arrows and abbreviations to remind himself of the upgrades his suit will be needing.

 

He could have done this theoretically in his head while driving the Ducati back to one to their places whilst considering his pizza order. It’s not the sort of showy Jason would indulge in, but Tim leans closer to Bruce than necessary and he knows there’s no missing the marks on his neck even when Bruce refuses to move his gaze.

 

Clark, for his part, is trying to be subtle in flickering his vision between Tim and Jason. The sound he makes when Jason catches his eye and salutes, _whilst winking_ , borders on the highest frequency of human hearing.

  
_Jason made Clark squeak_ , Tim thinks to himself as he pockets the diagram and heads back out of the cave, _his pride will be insufferable_.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *swallows nervously* I hope that wasn't so weird to read as it was to write.


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred rarely indulges in baking, but when he does it’s like a beacon starts emitting a particular frequency throughout Gotham that only the Robins can hear, calling them back to the mansion. Alfred’s cookies are better than the Bat Signal.

 

Tim managed to get here first this time, dropping off a file for Bruce (and hunting his expression for any sign of emotion regarding the shower incident of last week.) That done, he’s left to wander into the kitchen and sing praises to Alfred.

 

Its a gleaming, spotless room with a tray of freshly baked, perfectly cooled and dangerously delicious cookies resting quite innocently on the island counter. Tim hops up and starts cramming them into his mouth as fast as possible.

 

It’s a fairly quiet day around the house, mostly due to Damian’s absence at school. He catches glimpses of Alfred running various errands through the halls. There’s a patch of sunlight shining through the skylight and warming his hair. Bruce is somewhere above in an office handling Wayne CEO work for once. It’s all rather quaint and lovely.

 

Tim doesn’t realise he’s closed his eyes until the sound of leather shoes and a faint cough startle him.

 

‘Morning, Alfred. This are delicious,’ he greets the butler, trying not to talk through a mouthful of cookie pieces. Alfred smiles but it looks strained. He almost looks -

 

Oh. There’s a laundry basket resting on the counter and inside are a pair of black and red boxers Tim is rather familiar with. The locker room floor in the Batcave is also rather well acquainted with them, and from Alfred’s expression so is he. Jason kicked them out of the shower (and to assign equal blame, Tim is the one who dragged him into said shower by said underwear.) Tim would be wavering between gladness and annoyance of the evidence if not for the disappointment on Alfred’s face.

 

‘I have no qualms with your involvement with Master Jason,’ Alfred begins and his voice is the sort of quite that shows a deep set anger and disheartenment. ‘But to use it so crudely in order to hurt Master Bruce is not something I will accept.’

 

Tim wants to cower away and never do such a thing again. He doesn’t, though, because while he’s got more respect for authority than Jason he has marginally less respect for Alfred than the others. He loves Alfred, they all do, but he never quite felt the worship the Robins before him did. They’re all human: Tim knows it best.

 

‘He chooses to be hurt by it,’ Tim selects as his answer. It’s more accusatory than he wants to convey. There’s a flash of anger on the butler’s face and Tim continues quickly. ‘We’re not doing anything wrong. You’re right, it’s crude, but it’s the only way to show him...’ Tim licks his lips, drops his gaze and considers his next words with care. ‘To show him this can exist. That we can be happier for it. I am,’ Tim looks back up now, holding Alfred's gaze and trying not to shake. ‘Happier for it. He could be too.’

_If we can do it, two people who’ve tried to kill and hurt each other for so long, its just a little more evidence to suggest that he can too. It’s a little more to suggest that love can and does win. He’s spent so long around demons and dysfunction that he’s forgotten anything other than his mad justice._

 

‘It would be good for him,’ Tim finishes softly, trusting that Alfred can interpret everything unsaid.

 

‘That was not your original intent.’ _No_ , Tim thinks, and hot shame flushes through him at being found out.

 

‘It is now.’ Alfred watches him for a few moments more before nodding, slowly, and pulling the laundry basket to his hip.

 

‘Even so, Master Timothy, I do believe that your message has been loud enough.’ He walks out of the kitchen on sure footsteps and leaves Tim feeling strangely stagnant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadah! Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> (Not to get anyone's hopes up, but I may very well publish stories set in this verse since I like it so much. Once I think them up.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! My tumblr is [cherryflamed](http://cherryflamed.tumblr.com) for all your superhero needs!
> 
> Title from that Alanis Morissette song.


End file.
